


Dog Tags

by Anonymous_Skrub



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Skrub/pseuds/Anonymous_Skrub
Summary: [IMPORTED FROM FF.NET - MINOR CHANGES MAY BE PRESENT]My spin on MW2-MW3.





	1. Chapter 1

****"Name?"

"Jenna Denning, Sergeant."

"Date of birth?" **(Keep in mind CoD4 ended in 2011, and MW2 starts in 2015/2016.)**

"Oh five, two six, one ninety-nine seven."

"You sure about this, miss?" the recruiter asks, looking up from his computer. Jenna stares down at him, eyes ablaze with determination.

"Never more sure than anything in my life, Sergeant," she replies crisply. He nods, and smiles, offering his hand. The Option 40 contract lay on the desk.

"Welcome to the United States Army, Ms. Denning. Or should I now say, Private Denning?" She grins, and shakes his outstretched hand.  _I feel this is gonna be good,_  she thinks to herself. Little did she know, this would be one of the worst experiences in her life.


	2. Welcome to Hell

Private Jenna Denning stepped off the C-130 cargo plane and on to the hot, Afghan sand. Rangers from Hotel Company, 1st Rangers were running PT, playing basketball, or doing personal stuff. Several other new Rangers stepped off the C-130 as well, including Jenna's two best friends since Basic, Specialist Keith McKnight and Private First Class Katherine Belle. 

Keith let out an impressed whistle. "So, this is the Sand Box…" he drawled in his Texan boy accent. Kathy rolled her eyes, and stated very sarcastically, "No, Sticky, it's the ocean! No sand in sight here!" She got flicked in the head by the 6'2 Ranger. She then promptly elbowed him in the balls… with her plastic elbow guard.He doubled over, groaning. Jenna giggled, and then helped him up.

Keith wisely backed away from the two dangerous Rangers, clutching his manhood. Not one of Jenna's besties, but still a friend, Private James Ramirez stood behind them, holding a video camera in one hand. "And… SCENE! Great job, people, this will get a million hits on YouTube in no time!" James declared. Keith's eyes widened in horror as the girls laughed it up.

"Alright kids, play time is over," a deep, but gentle male voice stated. The quartet looked in the direction it came from to see a Ranger with a corporal's rank tab on his BDU, along with the name "DUNN" and a Ranger tab and scroll. "The name's Tim Dunn , and I'm the assistant team leader of Hunter 2-1. Welcome to Firebase Phoenix," he said. He continued, "As some of the first female Rangers, I congratulate you two," he said, tipping his cap at Jenna and Kathy, "but we have a mock up course here all newbies have to pass. The Pit," he said, grinning like a maniac at the end.

"Alright, kids, follow the leader!" he shouted, and jogged towards a large trench area. They vaguely heard in the distance, "… and to switch from target to target faster, aim down the sights, kill one, then go out of the sights and aim down them again." They all were thinking,  _What is this, Call of fucking Duty?_

They walked down into the Pit, and stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for Cpl. Dunn to brief them. "Alright, this is the Pit. It's a CQC sim, and it has both hostiles and civilians, so watch your fire. You will go one at a time, on my go. Choose a weapon, and a side arm," he said, gesturing to the many guns. Keith grabbed a M14 Enhanced Battle Rifle, and a Glock 18; James took a Remington ACR and Beretta M9; Kathy grabbed a Heckler & Koch MP5K and Heckler and Koch Universal Self-loading Pistol (USP), chambered for the .45 caliber round; Jenna took a M4 carbine and a M1014 12-gauge shot/scattergun.

Keith went first; he started out fairly well, taking down targets like a pro with semi-automatic awesomeness. As soon as he got in the house, though, his gun would fit through any doors. This cost him about 8 seconds. He eventually passed in 1:34.

Kathy went next; she started out really good, taking down the entire front of the house in 14 seconds, no civilians hit; though when she got to the top of the stairs in the house, the target hit her in the face. Needless to say, she was pissed and finished fast. 1:12.

James followed, and managed to take down all the targets in a timely fashion. However, just as he jumped off the second floor, he twisted his ankle upon landing. He fought on, but was late. 1:48.

Finally, Jenna was up. She loaded shells into her M1014, and slammed a mag home in her M4. As soon as the timer started, everything around her disappeared. Targets in front of her and to her left; she dropped them with 6 rounds. Targets directly in front, and in the window; 11 rounds, no civilians hit. Target top of the stairs; empty the mag and reload. Civilians and hostiles, second floor; 10 rounds, no civilians hit. Tangos in the yard, along with civvies; 13 rounds, no civvies hit. Sprint; 5 tangos in front! Spray the last 7 rounds, drop the M4, pull out the shotgun; 2 shells and they're down.

"Denning, you finished in… 0:51!" Dunn exclaimed. The others were about to complain when a voice came over the speakers, "HOTEL COMPANY, LOAD UP! BRAVO IS PINNED DOWN IN THE RED ZONE, GET THERE DOUBLE TIME!" Dunn put on a serious face, "Alright, you four are with me and 2-1. McKnight, you got the 240. Ramirez, take his M14 and go get some mags for it. Belle, Denning, grab a M4 rifle and hopefully an ACOG. Denning, try to get an M320 as well," Dunn ordered, the said people doing the tasks as soon as it came out of his mouth.

In 15 minutes, they were a few hundred yards out in the Hotel convoy. Lt. General Shepard was in this as well, with Hunter 2-3. Foley, their TL, and PFC Allen, their second grenadier, were in the Humvee as well as Dunn, McKnight, Belle, Ramirez, and Denning. Ramirez was on the M134 7.62mm minigun, Dunn driving, Belle and Allen in the back seats, Foley in the passenger seat, and McKnight and Denning in the trunk. Ramirez spotted something, and started talking to himself. "Looks like a flock of birds heading straight for… us…" he trailed off, realization coming over him. He rapidly hit the hood of the Humvee and hollered at the top of his lungs, "MORTARS, INCOMING!" As soon as Jenna heard that, she had one thought:  _Aww shit…_  Then the mortars hit, and she blacked out.


	3. Bullet Casings and JDAMs

Jenna gradually came back into consciousness, and tried opening her eyes. Being knocked out for half an hour tends to give you the morning sleepy eyes, though. Simply speaking: she didn't open her eyes. Typical Jenna for you.

She finally groaned, and rubbed her eyes, trying to stir them awake. As she opened them, she saw something that would scar her for life: Keith lay in front of her, stuck to the side of the Humvee with a piece of shrapnel, torn from the trunk of the Humvee, lodged straight in his chest. She did the natural thing: She screamed. This woke up Dunn, Belle, and Foley, who quickly came to. Belle covered her mouth, Dunn looked away, and Foley… Foley just shrugged, and cut his seat belt off.

Jenna gulped, and grabbed her M4A1 rifle, and kicked open the door of the trunk, vomiting upon reaching the outside. She saw Genera Shepard helping up Ramirez, who had flown from the Humvee turret, and shoving him into the rain of lead and rockets. She grabbed her rifle once again, and ran behind the rest of Hunter 2-1.

She heard a Ranger calling in grid coordinates for an airstrike as she slid into cover next to Ramirez and Foley, and began shooting at tangos across the river. "Solid copy, Hunter 2-1. Rolling in now… Target acquired…" Jenna continued firing, the targets across the river nice and big in her Trijicon 4x32 Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight (ACOG). She had the rifle on semiautomatic, so each time she pulled the trigger, only 1 round left the muzzle. She heard Ramirez, on her right, curse and say something about hot brass on his balls. She smirked.

Suddenly, after she reloaded and went back to look through her scope, Dunn patted her shoulder, yelling over the noise, "JENNA, WE'RE OSCAR MIKE! GET TO THE HUMVEES ON THE BRIDGE! GO!" He pushed her towards the stairs leading to the bridge. She climbed up quickly, and got in a new Humvee where Foley was already seated in.

The Rangers stood around, muttering things. Someone called out, "TEN SECONDS!" After more muttering, an F-15E fighter jet shrieked by, and a few seconds later, an apartment complex that they were taking fire from suddenly exploded in a mix of fire, shrapnel, and concrete, all the materials mentioned flying everywhere. She watched in slight awe, and vaguely recognized Ramirez hauling himself in the shield-less turret of the Humvee, prepping their M134 .50 caliber mini-gun. Foley announced over the radio, "Hunter 2! We're oscar mike, let's go! Let's go!"

A steady stream of, "Hooahs," later, the convoy got underway. Jenna saw some ASF guys moving into alleys on foot, with their tacticool gear of Crye Scorpion cargo pants, dark yellow/brown-ish hoodies, baseball caps and hockey helmets, and of course, the beards and the beanies. She envied them so.

"3 men, probably militia, 12 o'clock," whispered Ramirez, who began to slowly spool up the .50. "They got any weapons?" Foley asked, flicking his rifle from SAFE to AUTOMATIC. Jenna switched hers to SEMIAUTOMATIC. "Negative, just watching us," Ramirez replied. Dunn snorted, "Damn RoE. They're probably scouting us, man." Ramirez and Jenna hummed in agreement. "Just keep driving, corporal…" Foley said, eyeing the 3 men still.

As they turned the corner, the 3 men disappeared into the building. Ramirez saw this, and also… "TANGO WITH AN RPG, ON OUR 6!" He yelled to the next Humvee. The gunner spun around his gun, opening fire. The RPG gunner dropped dead.

Ramirez turned forward again, breathing a sigh of relief. Suddenly, the entire convoy heard a sharp  _CRR-ACK!_  A bullet hit the roof of the Humvee, ricocheting into Ramirez's chest plate. He had the wind knocked out of him, but recovered quickly.

"SNIPER, SNIPER!" Kathie yelled, scanning the rooftops with her M4. "You see'em, guys!?" Ramirez asked, swiveling the M134 left and right. "I don't see jack, man!" Dunn yelled, ducking behind the wheel as he kept driving. Jenna tried rolling down the window, only to have a bullet hit the glass and create a spider web effect. "Whoa!" She yelled, leaning back into Ramirez's legs.

"Hunter 2, this is Devil 1-1, we got positive enemy fire coming from the school 175 yards to your front. Too close for effective fire. Command is bringing in Pegasus 2-2, flight of 4 Apaches. See you later, guys," the pilot finished, doing a flyby of the school, causing insurgents to duck behind cover and/or shoot at the supersonic fighter.

"Alright, Ramirez, get that gun ready! We're going in!" Foley yelled. Ramirez wasted no time in heating up the .50, bracing for the opening volley of fire that should come. "Hell yeah, spin'em up, guys, we're going in!" Kathie yelled in the radio. A chorus of "Hell yeahs!" and "Hooahs!" responded to her call.

As they rounded the corner and the school came in sight, all hell broke loose. Bullets and rockets rained down from the school on the Rangers. Ramirez and the other gunners let loose with their guns, spitting out several hundred rounds a minute. Their bullets cut through stone, concrete, steel, and flesh; their brass casings falling out of the chambers, pinging as they hit the roof of the armored vehicles. Then it went wrong.

"RPG!" The warning came from everywhere at once- and it helped nobody as the rockets flew and impacted. Hunter 2's C2 (Cx2=C and C; C & C=Command and Control) Humvee exploded in a burst of flame, steel, and screams, killing Lieutenant Matthews and Sergeant First Class Donnelly. A second RPG hit the building directly to the left of Jenna, pelting their Humvee- and the exposed Ramirez- with rubble and shrapnel. The third, final, RPG hit the ground, and ricocheted through the right side back door of their Humvee- right through the vest of Kathie Belle. It stuck, still not exploded in her chest, as she turned to look at Jenna. Mouth and nose bleeding, she slowly and weakly grasped Jenna's wrist before slumping over.

"KATHIE'S HIT! MAN DOWN," Jenna shouted, unaware of everything else. She was aware of the blood coming from the turret, semi-aware they were moving, but only aware her best friend had just been mortally wounded- or killed. She crawled around Ramirez's legs, and cradled her dying friend's head in her lap, sobbing. Kathie was taking shallow, unstable breaths, her broken lungs desperately trying to get air. She looked at Jenna in the eye, before smiling weakly, and just stopped breathing.

Jenna was about to close her eyes when Ramirez suddenly grabbed her and threw her out of the now-open door of the Humvee, jumping out behind and on her as an RPG suddenly struck the Humvee, igniting it in a massive column of flames… with Kathie's dead body still inside.

She screamed and tried to pry Ramirez off her, when Dunn finally came, and both dragged her kicking and screaming in a house filled with wounded Rangers. She managed to kick Ramirez in the face, giving him a bloody nose, before he violently smacked her across the face, yanked it back to face his, and grabbed her by the shoulders, and screamed at her. "DENNING! GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF! CALM THE FUCK DOWN, JENNA!"

He continued screaming, as she noticed something. 2 Rangers started climbing up the stairs, only to be shot full of lead and sent toppling back down. Jenna grabbed Ramirez's rifle, which he had slung around his shoulder, and as soon as the insurgents came down the stairs, she pumped them full of 5.56x45mm rounds, emptying the entire magazine.

Ramirez looked behind him, shocked, before getting pushed up by Jenna, who took point. He stared at her, the blood from the day's events making her clothes stick to her skin. And,  _damn_ , she had a nice body. He shook his head, slapping himself across the face for good measure, to clear his head. Bad Ramirez, no, STAY OUT YOU STUPID HORMONES!

She raised her rifle, slowly climbing up the stairs. Before she went all the way up, she tossed in a flash bang. As soon as it went off, Jenna barged into the room, Dunn appearing out of nowhere to her right. Together, they shot and killed the enemy fighters on the second floor. "Clear," Dunn shouted downstairs.

Foley, Ramirez, and some guys from 2-2 came up. Suddenly, a machine gun- likely a PKM or RPK- opened up on them from the school. The auto riflemandeployed his bi-pod, set up his 240, and returned fire. Their designated marksman supported him from a few windows away, laying down accurate lethal and suppressive fire with his MK14 EBR-RI. "2-1, 2-2, let's move! We're gonna secure that school!" Foley said, charging out the doorway onto the steps leading to the ground. Dunn, Jenna, Ramirez, and the remainder of Hunter 2-2 followed closely behind.

They stacked up against a tin sheet wall, obscuring them from the enemy- for now. Dunn peeked his head out to check if it was clear, when several AKs and PKMs fired in his general direction. Foley got on the radio, "2-2 Sierra, help us out here. Clear out the playground for us, will you?" The pair responded, "Solid copy, standby for our go." Suddenly, the 240 and M14 sent rounds barely above the squad's heads, after which they heard something hit the ground beyond the tin wall. "All clear, 2-1 and 2-2."

Foley tapped a guy from 2-2, saying, "Get a few smoke grenades out to cover us." The guy nodded, and backed up, tossing smoke grenades and FOG* grenades over the fence. As soon as he felt it was a good time to move, Foley slapped Dunn's shoulder, screaming over the gun fire, "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! GET INSIDE THE SCHOOL, GO!"

The Rangers charged through the smoke, bullets whizzing by their heads and cracking at their feet. As they exited the smoke, 2 fighters emerged from the school's entrance. Dunn and Foley dropped them, while Ramirez and Jenna took point into the school. After clearing the initial entrance, both ducked behind part of the wall that stuck out as rifle fire struck near them.

"Denning, Ramirez, clear that hallway ASAP!" Foley yelled from outside. "Working on it," Ramirez snapped, dropping to a knee and firing at the group of militants. They stopped firing, giving Jenna an opportunity to also pop out and shoot one as he dove for cover. "Get in, quick," Jenna said, firing off a quick burst at one enemy fighter as he stuck his head above cover. His head exploded, with the grey brain matter splatting against the wall.

2-1 and 2-2 quickly moved in and found cover, suppressing the hostile forces. A guy from 2-2, Jenna, and Ramirez went to clear a side room. As the 2-2 guy went in, he suddenly backed against the wall, bullets tearing through his vest, gear, and chest. Jenna quickly shot the gunner through the chest three times, and Ramirez went on ahead, clearing the rest of the room. After doing that, he nodded, indicating it was clear, so Jenna and Ramirez regrouped with the squad, who had also gotten the M240 and M14 shooters back.

"Danny?" A sergeant from 2-2 asked Ramirez. He shook his head. The sergeant clutched his rifle tightly, and volunteered to take point up the stairs. He and the M240 gunner quickly killed 3 guys in the stairwell, and proceeded into the hallway. The rest came up, noting the ammunition strewn everywhere. "Damn," whispered Dunn, "they turned this place into a fucking fortress." Foley went on point, "And all fortresses are vulnerable on the inside, Dunn."

Suddenly, their radios blared to life, "This is Hunter 2-3, with General Shepard, taking effective fire from the school, break! We are requesting immediate assistance, over!" Foley responded, "2-1 and 2-2 here, we read you 2-3. Hold fire on the school, break. We are inside. Prepare to break contact and move to the RV point, over." "Copy that, 2-1 and 2-2. Do it fast, though; the Humvees can't take much more. Hunter 2-3 out." The M240 gunner, PFC Peter Ramone, readied his weapon, placing a bead on the insurgents firing on Hunter 2-3. "Three… Two… One… Mark. OPEN FIRE!" Foley said, unleashing hell unto the enemy. They never had a prayer.

After clearing that set of windows, fighters came into the kill zone, only to be shot down. As the Americans reloaded, more came, almost enough to swarm them. Ramirez put a two-oh-three round down range. Threat eliminated.

The squad quickly moved up, coming into a set of rooms crawling with hostiles. Ramone put a few bursts* down range, along with rifle fire from the rest, quickly clearing the rooms. "This is Hunter 2-3, we're clear. Thanks for the assist. Meet you at the rendezvous point, 2-1 and 2-2." They saw the 4 Humvees pull away, dust, craters, bullets and bullet casings the only evidence left behind that they were there.

The squad quickly killed the last 2 hostiles near the exit, and proceeded to move to the RV point. As they came into an alley, enemy fire from their 10 to 12 o'clock caught them by surprise. The sergeant from 2-2 quickly joined his friend Danny in the other world. Dunn caught a round through his thigh, and he fell screaming. Ramirez got hit the helmet and took one to the left hand, blasting off his pinky and ring fingers. He somehow managed to grab Dunn, though, and dragged him to cover.

Jenna's medic side took over, applying a tourniquet to Dunn's upper thigh to stop the bleeding. She then took out an ACE bandage, wrapping it around the wound tightly. She also wrapped up Ramirez's wounded hand, and checked him for head wounds, before she cleared him and sent him off. Dunn continued screaming, albeit quitter slightly. She gave him a shot of morphine; there wasn't much else to do behind a broken down Toyota Hilux.

She then noticed the fighting had moved, and they were alone. She quickly hoisted Dunn up, supporting him with her right arm, holding her SIG Sauer P226 in her left. She quickly crossed the former battlefield, moving around the dead bodies of former insurgents. As she checked her left, she came back to face her front- and was staring down the business end of an AK-74M. She could never swing her pistol around fast enough, so she closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable. She said her final words, "I'm sorry, Dunn."

A single crack reverberated throughout the Afghan valley.


	4. Shah-i-kot

**AN: Wrote this all at roughly 3-3:30 AM this morning. Don't judge. Any grammar or spelling errors, please report to me. As always, read, review, and feel free to donate cookies.**

**Introducing our second protagonist, a Russian 0p3r8t0r,.. Ms. Tanya Zaytseva! If you read/saw "Enemy at the Gates" or are familiar with the Battle of Stalingrad, you should know who her grandpa is. ;)**

**[Shahikot Valley, Afghanistan**

**23 August 2014**

**Corporal Tanya "Huntress" Danovich Zaytseva**

**Sniper and combat medic, Alfa Team, Spetsnaz]**

"Alfa 4-1 is moving in. Keep us covered, 4-2," came the whispering voice of Lieutenant Mikaloshek Tetoyan, Tanya's commanding officer. She exhaled softly, sending a little cloud of steam into the cold morning air. As the team neared it's objective, a 2 story walled compound, Tanya adjusted her scope to compensate for the new windage.

As she scanned the second floor windows, she stopped. A single barrel of a gun- an AK-74M, she assumed- was sticking out of the window. She stopped breathing. The cross hairs of her scope found their way to the chest of the would-be shooter. As he got ready to slaughter her team, she gently rested her finger on the trigger. As the lack of air started constricting her chest, she squeezed. A soft  _psshfft!_ sounded, and a brass 7.62x39mm casing fell next to the Russian operator and her suppressed SVD.

She watched the round in slow motion, spiraling towards her target, cutting through the wind of the Afghan valley. A resounding  _thud!_ and splatter of red, coupled with his toppling out the window, allowed a grim smirk of satisfaction to grace her pale features.

"Good kill, 4-2. 4-1, get ready." She watched the team stack against the western wall. "Charges set... Time to stir up the hornet's nest. Fire in the hole!"

A resounding explosion sounded, and between the smoke and dust, she lost sight of her team. However, having done this exercise many times before, she assumed they just entered the compound. Their reaction in the next few minutes, however, was not standard.

"Shit, this place is rigged to blow! It's a fucking trap! 4-2, get your asses ou-" her CO was cut off as the entire building exploded, sending chunks of debris in every direction. Tanya gasped, and shot up from her table and chair in the back of a mountainside building.

"4-2, this is 6, what the hell is going on?" broke in a new voice on the net. Tanya responded, "Sir, it's a trap. 4-1 is KIA, and so is 4 Actual. We need immediate support. Multiple hostiles spotted, and-" she stopped speaking as she threw herself against the wall as incoming small arms fire kicked up dust, then the floor as she felt the vibrations of exploding artillery. "- mortars, rockets, and heavy small arms fire are pinning us down! We need CAS, now, sir!" She yelled, grabbing her rifle, and looking the window, startled to see a young Afghan teen standing there with a rifle. She recovered, blowing his brains out.

"4-2, this 6. Copy your last. We have an American AC-130 on station. Sit tight," the annoying voice of her Team CO announced again. A few minutes later, a new, American voice entered the net. "Alfa 4-2, this is Harrowed 1-1. On station for CAS. How copy?"

Tanya had just finished gathering her squad, and the 9 Russian operators sprinted through brush, rock, and potential minefields, all the while dodging bullets, RPGs, and enemy artillery. She switched from Russian to English in a hurry, so it wasn't the finest. "1-1, 4-2 copy. Immediate fire, behind team. Enemy a lot," she gasped out.

She and another sniper paused, and slung their AKS-74u carbines from their shoulders. She peered down the Kobra sight as an insurgent entered her view. She was about to pull the trigger, when suddenly the entire hillside was lit up by Harrowed 1-1.

That insurgent, and every other behind him, was caught in a deadly barrage of 25mm Gatling guns, a Bofors 40mm cannon, and a 105mm howitzer. "Hot damn!" Exclaimed the pilot. "Good kills, good kills," muttered the video feed operator. "Nice fucking job, 1-1," Tanya said, grinning. She took off again, Private Dmitri Petrovask behind her.

"Say, 4-2, you sound kinda cute. How about meeting me for a few drinks back on base?" asked the gunner. She didn't even hesitate to answer him: "I'm a lesbian." She heard a spit take and coughing, followed by snickers from the rest of the crew. "Ignore Harrell, he's a horny son-of-a-bitch," answered the obviously older and more mature pilot. She snorted, as if that wasn't obvious, she thought.

"AMBUSH!" Yelled PFC Viktor Kasentrov. He dived for cover, and promptly got shot multiple times. "Contact! Right side, right side!" "Negative, left!" "I see tangos to our 12!" As the panicked Russians frantically tried to fight off the ambush, with 1-1 unleashing hell on the insurgents from the sky, Tanya desperately yelled, "1-1, WHERE IS OUR FUCKING REINFORCEMENTS!?"

A new voice, with a Texas drawl entered the comms. "Corporal Zaytseva, this is Lieutenant General Shepherd. Your QRF is on their way, along with my unit. Hang tight." She screamed in frustration, and yelled, "WHO ARE THEY AND HOW LONG?!"

Another voice entered, and she heard a female voice, with a hint of a Brooklyn accent, say, "This is Private Jenna Denning, Hunter 2-1 is oscar mike."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Took me roughly 3-4 days to write this. I feel proud. Fluff at the end. Don't hate me. kthnx**

**[Shahikot Valley, Afghanistan**

**23 August 2014**

**3rd person POV**

**Hunter 2-1/Alfa 4-2]**

**Overlord: Hotel Company and TF-141 are inbound to support Alfa 4-2. SOAR, get your birds ready. We're going into the Shahikot.**

**soarbaseCO: The Shahikot, sir? The place from Operation Anaconda in '02?**

**Overlord: Correct. Make sure you have Apache cover. You'll need it.**

**soarbaseCO: Copy your last. Pegasus 2, 3, and 5 are spinning up now. ETA, 25 mikes.**

_Alfa 4-2's position_

As Tanya shot another insurgent from behind a fallen tree, Private Dmitri called out, "QRF in 25 mikes!" He then resumed putting down fire with a PKM he picked up after he stabbed one of the fighters who got too close.

Harrowed 1-1 put down a few 40mm rounds near the top of the hill. Suddenly, the pilot called out, "What the fuck? I got missile lock on warnings, but we're outta SAM range!?" The gunner, Harrell, yelled, "Enemy fighters, 7 o'clock! 7 o'clock!" The pilot swore, and rapidly said, "Deploying flares, deploying flares!" The still dark dawn sky was suddenly lit up by dozens of flares falling to the earth.

"Cannon fire! Bank left, bank left!" A panicked crew member screamed. "We're not gonna m-" The pilot was abruptly cut off, before coming back on. "Harrowed 1-1 is hit, going down! Going down! Crew, bail, bail, bail!"

The Russians, during a lull in the fighting, watched in horror as the gunship, flaming and gutting out smoke, fell to the mountains. They could see a dozen parachutes or so, but an AC-130 typically had a crew of about 35-40. Where was the other two-thirds?

They didn't have time to guess as Harrowed 1-1 slammed right into the side of a mountain, erupting in a huge fireball. It shot hundreds of feet into the sky, catching the few crew members who bailed out in it's hellish flames.

Tanya snapped back to reality. "4-2, resume fire! We need to hold out for ten more minutes!" As soon as she said this, the team got back in action. "Firing RPG! Watch the back blast," exclaimed Corporal Aleksander Kazernten. The rocket-propelled grenade streaked away, detonating as it hit a boulder several insurgents were taking cover behind.

"Pegasus 3-3, gun run in 5 mikes. Alfa 4-2, please ignite a yellow smoke grenade to mark your position, over," a pilot announced over the comms. "I got it!" yelled the team medic, PFC Caroline Nemoreva. She yanked off the pin with her teeth, and tossed it in what was, roughly, the center of the team's circle.

"3-3, this is 4-2. Position marked. Anything 20 meters out is fair game. Over!" Tanya yelled into the radio, over the increasingly loud machine gun and rifle fire.

She gripped her 74u harder, and popped up and put a burst into the chest of a charging hostile. He fell, dead, before exploding. She blinked, shocked, before yelling out, "SUICIDE BOMBERS, WATCH OUT!"

Dmitri, the gunner, suddenly cried out as blood started spurting from a wound in his neck. "Hit! Neck wound," he exclaimed, checking the blood color before continuing, "it's arterial! Line, need a bit of help over here!" Caroline popped up, putting down the rest of her AK-103 magazine, before ejecting it and slamming a new one home, pulling back the bolt as she reached Dmitri.

Tanya, too, felt the hammer-like blow of a gunshot wound. It was a minor one, just tore through some tissue, but still hurt like a  _bitch_. She desperately yelled, "3-3, where the fuck are you?!" A witty pilot replied, "Right here." A mix of AH-64s and Mi-28s flew over, drawing enemy fire. Tanya breathed a sigh of relief, before putting down even more lead.

_About 5 minutes behind Pegasus 3-3; Hunter 2-1_

"Five minutes." The call rang throughout the MH-47E, as Rangers went over last minute equipment checks. PFCs Jenna Denning and James Ramirez were near the ramp, so they would be one of the first ones out. Private Morgan, who held the M240B 7.62mm machine gun, was decided to lead out. His machine gun could lay down critical suppressive fire so the rest of Hunter 2 could disembark.

Jenna inserted a magazine into her M4A1 rifle, when Lieutenant Hofferson, the new CO of Hunter 2, gave the order: "Lock and load, lady and gents!" The unanimous sounds of rifles and machine guns being primed to fire filled the chopper. The rear ramp slowly lowered half way. The rear crew chief, Staff Sergeant Micheal Brigde, held up 2 fingers. Two minutes.

Ramirez slipped an HE round into his M320, ready to fire the deadly explosive as soon as he needed to. Corporal Dunn looked up from adjusting the optics of his HK416. He turned on the red dot of his M68 CCO scope, before gripping his vertical fore-grip tightly.

Foley calmly listened to the radio traffic and steady beats of the helicopter. As they approached the LZ, whizzing sounds started to be heard. "Taking fire, taking fire!" exclaimed the pilot. The crew chiefs tried to suppress the shooters, sending hundreds of rounds towards them with M240Bs, Mark 19s, and M134s.

As the ramp finally lowered, and the helicopter came to a stop, Hunter 2-1 dashed off the bird. Morgan got off and veered left, falling on his stomach and setting up his gun with the bipod on a rock outcropping. Ramirez and Jenna tore right, they too hunkering down behind cover. Foley and Dunn got near Morgan, who proceeded to lay down covering fire.

As Hunter 2-2 got off, and Hunter 2-3 and 2-4 got near the ramp, several dozen 30mm cannon rounds tore through the helicopter, blowing it and the Rangers and SOAR crew inside up.

Several Rangers from 2-3 got off, only to be thrown several feet right into No Man's Land. A few rolled into a moderately deep crater, likely created from a mortar, and hunkered down. Others were not so lucky, and got shot as they tried to crawl away.

Jenna fired her rifle profusely, a mountain of brass forming next to her. Morgan needed to let his gun cool, but sizzling tracer rounds were still visible, whether they be in dead bodies, smoking trees, or cracked boulders. Morgan kept firing with his SiG Sauer P226, never letting up.

Ramirez took aim at a machine gun/RPG position, and put an HE round right on it, blowing the gunners to Kingdom Come. As he slid behind the rock to reload his grenade launcher, he heard the dim whine of a supersonic jet. But they didn't have any aircraft up...

"FAST MOVERS! GET DOWN!" He yelled, as a old MiG-19 fighter streaked by, the cannon hitting just 15 feet away from 2-1's position. He heard another jet, but as he was about to call out another warning, a F-22 Raptor screamed through the sky, and launched a missile straight at the antiqued fighter.

As the pilot desperately tried to bank, the missile sailed right up the tail pipe. The canopy exploded, but no pilot came out. The fighter exploded in a fireball of metal, gunpowder, and old fuel.

As the Raptor swooped by again, Foley called out, "We need to regroup with 4-2, and get the hell out of here! Ramirez, Denning, take point!" The young duo raced off towards the tree line, crouching down and dashing madly between the trees. Jenna slid, and laid down cover fire as Ramirez took cover and did the same, allowing them to regroup, and 2-1, 2-2, and whoever was left of 2-3 to meet up.

As they set up a hasty perimeter, Dunn barked out, "Visual on 4-2, about 100 meters to our southwest!" Foley nodded, and, gesturing to 2-2, shouted over the gunfire, "Lead the way!" As the squad automatic rifleman ran out, a suicide bomber tackled him, blowing them up, and wounding two other Rangers, one mortally.

As they were dragged back into cover and treated, Foley cursed. He got on the radio, and yelled, "4-2, unable to reach you. Can you try to fight your way to us near the extraction zone, over?" A Russian female answered, "Just give us a minute!"

Jenna was tending to one of the wounded, so Ramirez was all alone. As he spotted several insurgents, he put down several bursts. One got a guy in the chest and arm, another got someone's head, and he blew out a guy's legs. Suddenly, fire picked up around them, and as Ramirez reloaded, he turned around and saw something he'd never forget.

A Russian squad, led by a woman in her early twenties, dashed through the the brush, expertly moving with and covering a small fire team, made up of a man with a beard and boonie hat, a younger man with a Mohawk, and two masked operators. One had a skull painted on his face. He shivered internally.

As they reached the Ranger perimeter, the man in the boonie hat yelled into his truck mike, "I don't bloody care Nikolai, just land the bloody bird!" The masked one with a helmet turned, and smashed his rifle into the skull of a charging insurgent. He fell, and the operator straddled him, and unsheathing his K-Bar, viciously decapitated the poor sod.

Suddenly, as Dunn dumped a mag into another target, three Hinds flew barely 30 feet above their heads. "Price, my friend, we can't stay long! Hurry!" A thick Russian voice spoke over the radio, above the din on the gun fighting. "Copy that, Nikolai! Alright, muppets, get your asses to the bird! You Yanks, too!" screamed the man with the boonie hat.

"Ghost, Roach, provide cover! You three, with the MGs and grenade launcher," Mohawk said, pointing toward Morgan, Ramirez, and a SAW gunner named McKenna, "help them. We'll cover you as you come back." He turned to the rest of the Rangers and Russians, "Alright, let's go!" They sprinted towards the LZ, bullets kicking up debris and dirt around their feet.

Jenna's lungs burned from 2 hours of continuous fighting and running, but she kept running. As she slowed slightly to catch her breath, a lucky shooter put three rounds in her left leg. She cried out, falling to the ground as her team and the others left her behind. All except one.

Tanya saw the female Ranger get shot, her leg damn near mangled. "Keep going! Line, I need you!" She shouted. Caroline and Tanya stopped, and reversed directions. Tanya dragged the wounded Ranger behind a suitable boulder, as Caroline laid down covering fire. As soon as Jenna was safe, however, they reversed roles.

"Keep still," Caroline shouted over the smoke. She swiped the wounds with antiseptic wipes, causing Jenna to whimper from pain. However, after she cleaned out the wounds, she applied a tourniquet on her upper thigh, to staunch the bleeding. She then applied a makeshift splint on the leg after wrapping it in bandages.

"Tanya!" Caroline shouted, getting her TL's attention. "I need you to carry her! I'm not strong enough!" The medic continued, grabbing her AK-103 before putting a few rounds down range. "Jenna, where the fuck are you?!" Ramirez shouted over the radio. Tanya got on the radio, struggling to be heard, "This is 4-2! We have your wounded comrade! We just need five minutes to get to the LZ, over!"

An Australian voice and Dunn spoke at the same time, "Bullshit/Bollocks, nothing ever takes five fucking/bloody minutes!" At the same time, two other voices spoke at the same time, as well, in response, "Ghost/Dunn, shut the fuck up!"

Tanya grunted in exertion as she pulled the wounded soldier close to her chest, bridal style. She gripped Tanya's jacket a  _little_ too close to her breast for comfort, and Tanya felt her face light up redder than Rudolph's nose. She tried to ignore the way the girl curled up close to her, and her sudden overwhelming scent.  _Like strawberries_ , she randomly thought. Her blush intensified, and a growing heat in her core and wetness in her pants did not help one bit.

"Tanya! Move!" Caroline's shouting brought her back to reality. She pulled Jenna closer to her, to prevent a round hitting her again, and took off. She was vaguely aware of Caroline's rifle going  _crack-crack-crack-crackackackack_ behind her, and getting fainter, but she dismissed it as last minute spray'n'pray fire.

As she neared the clearing, fire intensified, and the sound of Caroline's rifle was nonexistent. However, she did hear one other thing, one she was grateful for: the steady beating of a helicopter's rotor blades. As she processed these thoughts, a Hind suddenly swooped in close, along with two Apaches, and the sound of 2 30mm chain guns and 2 PKM machine guns, coupled with the falling brass, struck everywhere but her position.

A trigger-happy Corporal Dunn was manning one of the machine guns, and he was having a  _blast_! He was screaming things like, "YEAH, COME SUCK ON MY HOT, BRASS BURNT BALLS, GOATFUCKERS!" Ramirez was audibly groaning on the other gun.

As she got in the clearing, she noticed something: Caroline wasn't with her. As she ran towards the last chopper, with outstretched hands from the British sounding operators, she got her answer on where Caroline was. "This is Line. I'm not gonna make it. Sorry, guys, Tanya. Hail Mother Russia. Urah!" A resounding explosion was heard and felt, and the mushroom cloud soared 10, 20, 30, at least 40 feet high. Jenna curled up tighter and whimpered, tears leaking from her wide, brown eyes.

As the grizzled man in boonie hat helped her in, the plain masked operator shouted, "Nikolai, we have them! Let's get the bloody hell outta Dodge, mate!" A slightly nervous voice responded from the cockpit, "Don't need to tell me twice, Roach, my friend. Hold on; this may get rough."

Tanya set Jenna on her lap, keeping her injured leg straight, and strapped them in. She took off her beanie, letting her dirty blonde hair to fall down to her shoulders, and her bangs over her left eye. Jenna had taken off her helmet, allowing her chestnut brown hair to fall out in a sweaty mess. Her eyes fluttered, and she kept nodding off.

"Go to sleep. You need it," Tanya told her gently. Jenna nodded, and promptly set her head on Tanya's breasts, and started sucking on her thumb. The blush returned with a vengeance. Soon, the young Ranger was snoring fitfully in the Spetsnaz operator's lap.

Tanya sighed, her right hand running through her hair, the left wrapped around the beautiful girl on her lap. The skull masked one looked over for a brief second before focusing on cleaning his ACR. Mohawk cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing as he leaned back and started snoring himself. The youngest one, she assumed, had taken off his headgear. He was breathtakingly handsome.

Black hair, dark as the midnight sky, ran down over his eyes and to the nape of his neck, with a dark red streak going from behind his right ear all the way down over his right eye. He was tanned, and had a bit of stubble growing in, suggesting prolonged patrols or days not on base. He also had almost unnaturally green eyes. They were warm, friendly, and full of mischief; he and Dmitri would get along well.

He gazed out the open door of the Hind, watching the mountains of the Shahikot vanish behind them. The leader with the boonie hat sat down next to her. He looked at her, and simply said, "Follow her example, lass. You look like Soap over there when he has one too many cups of ale." She nodded, and was soon drifting off to her dreams.

She fell asleep smelling strawberries and dreaming of a certain brunette.


	6. Operation Kingfish

**[Operational Base "Falcon"**

**Formerly Bagram AFB**

**Afghanistan**

**2 September 2014]**

Inside a rusty old hangar, nobody would suspect the second biggest manhunt in the 21st century was going down. Inside the hangar, members from some of the world's best special operations units were planning a huge operation. They were formed under a single task force, led by U.S. Army Lieutenant General Shepherd. They are Task Force 141.

Consisting of various European and North American units, including the British 22 SAS Regiment, members from B Squadron, 1st SFOD-D, Alfa Team from Russia's SPETSNAZ, the German KSK, Polish GROM, Australian SASR, DEVGRU, South Korean UDT/SEALs, and the 75th Ranger Regiment, along with ODA 637, 2nd Company, 10th Special Forces Group.

These men and women were poring over constant intel coming in, marking likely locations, hiding spots, weapons caches, and enemy strongholds. They were not fighting the Taliban any more. They were fighting Ultranationalists, members om Imran Zakhaev's failed attempt to destroy the West. With unspoken but sure funding from Russian President Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, these battle hardened men were training the locals against their enemy, giving them the latest in Russian weaponry.

TF-141 was looking for their leader. A former Soviet paratrooper. Vladimir Makarov. One of Zakhaev's lieutenants; he was there in Pripyat when Price shot off Zakhaev's arm. The huge mission in the works had gotten a name. It was Operation Kingfish.

"We believe Makarov is using the Shahikot as a recruiting ground and troop build up area," Corporal Tanya Zaytseva, waving a P226 with a laser pointer on it, said, marking the valley with her laser. "Here, on the Whale, we believe he has set up SAM sites, mortars, and possible anti-vehicular weaponry," she continued, pointing at the hump shaped topographic area. "On the Finger, he likely has set up artillery, machine guns, and scouts to report on anyone trying to enter the Shahikot."

A KSK officer raised his hand, saying, "So basically, we can't attack from anywhere." A few murmurs of agreement went up in the crowd. Tanya raised her hand, gesturing for newly-promoted Specialist Jenna Denning to speak. "In theory, that is correct. However, there is one thing we have that the enemy does not: the best warriors on the planet," she exclaimed. "Think. No ground vehicle assault, no air assault. What are the two things he will least expect?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Ramirez spoke up, "Airborne assault and infantry assault. Airborne is damn near impossible with those winds and mountains, and infantry assaults could take days just getting in position," he noted. Jenna nodded, saying, "Correct. But that gives us the element of surprise." She gestured back to the maps.

"Here, India Team was able to set up a 4 man OP and remain undetected for near a week. Here," she moved it over, "Mako 31 and Juliet Team were able to wipe out a Dushka position and confirm a large enemy presence, respectively."

Price started speaking, "Everybody on the bloody planet expects Yanks to be rolling in with loudass helicopters. That's what happened in '02. Now, we're changing that. We're doing a combined airborne and infantry assault into the Shahikot," he said. He then gestured to the assembled special operations units, "The Rangers will be the main driving force. Doorkickers will include my SAS boys, you KSK folks, and Team Metal."

Roach raised a hand, "So what about the 141?" "You're attaching to the SAS for this one, kid," Soap said, affectionately slapping his back. "Ain't nobody better than Wallcroft and his Fucked Up Boytoys," he continued, snickering. An indignant amount of, "Heys!" sounded out from the SAS section.

"Alright, back on topic. Spetsnaz, DEVGRU, ASF, and the SASR will hit these caves over here," Jenna said, throwing a pin on the map. "The Korean SEALs and GROM will be here along with 3 Ranger platoons acting as a QRF in case shit hits the fan. Any questions?" None were asked.

"Good. Assault One is the infantry guys; that's the first group we mentioned. Two is the cave group. We're gonna find something, or damn us for missing a target," Soap excitedly yelled. Jenna grinned evilly beside him, rubbing her hands together. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, cackling, "welcome to  **Operation Kingfish**."


	7. Chapter 7

**[C-17 Globemaster II- "Carnage 2-2"]**

**[25,000 feet above sea level]**

**[Shahikot Mountains, Afghanistan]**

**[September 21, 2015]**

**[Coalition Task Force "Marauder"]**

**[Assault Group One]**

"Red light."

The battle hardened members of the 141, Spetsnaz's Alfa 4-2, SAS and the Rangers Hunter 2-1, reacted instantly. Jenna checked over Dunn's chute, before slapping his head, her way of saying, "You're OK." He gave a high pitched yelp, before growling lightly.

She felt Ramirez slap the top of her helmet, his way of saying the same. She pouted- sometimes it sucked being 5'2.

"30 seconds!" the crew chief yelled over the radio. Jenna fastened on her oxygen mask, and pulled on her visor. The built-in HUD flicked on, activating her night vision. The cargo bay of the C-17 Globemaster II glowed a dull green, with bright green showing where the lights were on.

As the ramp finished descending, Captain Price raised a fist and stepped out of line. He went to the edge and looked off, the dark grey fabric of his hoodie and US4CES style cargo pants rippling in the harsh Afghan wind.

He stepped to the divide, and faced sideways. He raised his fist again, and as the light turned green, waved out the door. One by one, the operators jumped from 25,000 feet; that was about 15,000 feet above the Shahikot mountains.

As Jenna came closer to the ramp, she felt her palms get sweaty. Dunn turned around and flashed a quick wink, before he too vanished into the dull green abyss.

Price gave her a nod, and Ramirez clasped her shoulder again. She took a deep breath...

And let the wind take her where it will.

**[A few minutes earlier]**

**[Assault Group Two]**

**[Sergeant Kamillia Hantz]**

**[German KSK, 3rd Commando Company]**

**[Callsign: "Kilo 3-1"]**

To say Sergeant Kamillia Hantz of the German KSK was having a rough week would be putting it nicely. If getting frozen in snow, at 8,400 feet above sea level was rough, then YES SIR, she was having a rough day... for the past 5 days.

Kami was part of Task Force Marauder's recon team, and had been sent out during a whiteout to get into position. About 50 feet below her were the cave systems Group Two was supposed to hit.

"Group One has the green, repeat, Group One is dropping," announced Ensign Patrick Moffers. Time to get to work.

"Heads up, 3-1, time to shine," whispered Kami, as she shrugged out of the snow and prepped her gear. Everything on her vest and pack had been taped down to avoid making noise.

As she dropped a rope to rappel down, she noticed a few humanoid shadows moving around a larger shadow in a dim lamplight. Sue squinted, and pulled up her rifle's ACOG scope.

She felt her pulse quicken and the temperature drop a few degrees as she saw what was happening. She fumbled for her radio in her mad attempt to give a warning.

The single word she said sent a chill down everyone who heard it spines.

"DUSHKA!"


	8. Chapter 8

**[Coalition Task Force "Marauder"]**

**[Assault Group One ETA: Unknown]**

**[Assault Group Two KSK/GROM Element]**

**[Kilo 3-1]**

Sergeant Kamilla hefted her HK416 and took aim with her Trijicon ACOG scope, frost already developing in the outer edges of the scope.

Moffers had set up his AWP and was aiming center mass of the current gunner. He grimaced.

" _Cold bore shot in already freezing and windy mountains. Don't like it, Sarge,_ " he said. Kamilla had to agree, replying, " _Ja, me neither, but you'll make it happen, Moffers._ " He exhaled slowly, a little smile spreading from under his hood, beanie, and lower face mask. His goggles lay on top of his head.

Kilo 3-2 and 3-3 were waiting to hit caves like the ones below them across other mountains. Along with her KSK commandos, a detachment of Polish GROM had gone with them, preparing their own rappelling gear.

"Eyes on Assault Group One," said a GROM operator, Karpowitz. Looking up through her NVGs, Kamilla also saw the mixed American, British, Scottish, and Russian element gliding silently through the night.

Looking back down, Moffers carefully moved his hand to the trigger, pressing down just enough to hit the small pressure stopper. As Kamilla and other KSK/GROM operators hooked up and stood backwards, prepared to leap off the ledge, she gave Moffers a little nod, and he, along with the remaining snipers, exhaled slowly.

They jumped off milliseconds before lethal rounds from the rifles brushed their heads.

Landing in front of the cave entrance, the operators moved in. In an effort to shorten complications, many had taken rifles chambered for 5.56x45mm rounds. A few carried submachine guns chambered for 9x19mm Parabellum rounds, but that could easily utilize pistol ammo.

A KSK commando wielded an HK MG4, the German version of the American M249 SAW. Those of them that hadn't slipped their NVGs down over their eyes and goggles, casting everything in an eerie green light.

As they entered the cave, Kamilla looked at her watch. 0053Z. Perfect.

As they got out of the cold wind and into the cave, the commandos got a slight chill, before feeling heat around them. "Oh yeah," the GROM team leader, Kowalski, grinned, scanning the cave with his own HK416, "we're  _definitely_ in the right place."

Kamilla was all business, softly barking out, "Lasers on, and move." One of her commandos, Schneider, took point, leading them into the cave.

Moving past stone and shining mineral, the operators came across a door, light and human shadows splaying under it. Laughter came from within, and footsteps echoed, coming towards them from further down the corridor.

A quick  _pfft-pfft-pfft_ from a suppressed rifle, and he was dead. Carrying body to them, they found the definitely Chechen dressed in Russian woodland camouflage and with a Chinese ammo rig with a QBZ-95 to match. Looking towards Kowalski, Kamilla nodded.  _Do it._

Stacking only a handful on the door while the rest pulled security, a GROM operator cut the electrical wires powering the lights in the room. Once they were out, Kamilla kicked the door in, and another GROM operator charged in, rifle raised, strafing left. Kamilla followed, going right.

Going in, she saw a man who was sleeping in a chair in her corner waking up.  _Pfft-pfft-pfft_ \- stay asleep. Turning and side strafing, she tensed as another raised his rifle and aimed towards the door. Putting another burst in his chest, he slumped down.

Turning further, she got to see a GROM operator dig a machete into a terrorist's neck, before yanking it out and cutting through his jugular again, this time stopping the gurgles.

"Boss, you're gonna want to see this," a commando whispered over the radio. Ordering the GROM operators to grab any intel they could from the room, Kamilla walked back out, and lay prone next to her teammate. Looking out across the expanse of the cavern, putting up her NVGs, her eyes went wide.

"My God," she breathed, staring at what was in front of her. "What the hell is this?" the commando asked, equally astonished.

Looking across the entire construct, Kamilla sucked in a breath. Activating her radio, she prepared announced to the whole Task Force what she saw.

"All Marauder elements, this is Kilo 3-1. We have eyes on an enemy training camp in our designated cave system. The construct appears to be an airp-!" Just as she was saying the word, numerous voices called out, "BOMBS!" "IT'S A TRAP!" "GET OUT, NOW!"

A single millisecond later, the entire cave complex, and the mountain, collapsed in on itself- and Kilo 3-1. A team of GROM operators and KSK commandos lay dead under hundreds of feet of rock.

**[Assault Group One]**

**[Multi-unit operational detachment]**

**[Task Force 141]**

**[Bravo Six]**

**[CPL J. Denning, 75th RR, 1st BTN, H CMPY]**

**[Status: unavailable]**

"KILO 3-1 IS DOWN, I SAY AGAIN, KILO 3-1 IS DOWN!" announced the UAV operator watching the mission back at Bagram. Jenna looked at the pile of rock that buried two dozen good men and women, and swallowed back the urge to vomit. Vomiting inside an oxygen mask isn't fun- unfortunately, she speaks from experience. (Fucking Airborne School.)

"Bravo Six, open your chutes… now!" Price ordered, opening up his own, followed by MacTavish- he liked to go by Soap; what kind of a fucking name is Soap, though?- then Sanderson, Riley, Wallcroft, Scarecrow, Foley, Dunn, Ramirez, Allen, then herself. Pulling the ripcord, she braced for the sudden break in descent. Right about-  _shhhrk_.

Fuck. That's not a good sound.

Looking at her left arm, she saw her shoulder raised slightly more than her opposite one.

Looking up, her chute was fine, so at least she had that going-

"INCOMING ENEMY FIRE!" Double fuck. Green and red tracer rounds zinged and cracked by her. Looking down to follow the sort of clear path the rest of the unit was on, she tried to guide her descent to match Allen's.

Suddenly, a few tracers buzzed by  _way too close_ , and then her already dislocated left shoulder got yanked up harder, getting a scream out of her... Which, she might add, is very difficult in an oxygen mask while effectively gliding in a one-way firefight at somewhere around 11,000 feet above sea level.

Jenna glanced up and saw two holes and multiple wires cut. Triple fuck.

Looking back forward, she realized she was descending faster than the others.  _Too fast which will most likely result in a broken leg or spine unless I angle myself like so right fucking now_ , she thought in a panicked rush.

Jenna landed on her hip in a 2-feet deep snow embankment, and got dragged almost off a small cliff until she unclipped herself from her parachute.  _Why does this always happen to me?_ she thought.  _Can't fucking Ramirez take some shit once in a while? Actually, wait, James is Foley's bitch already… and Joe is a fuckwad on his own… fuck you, Dunn._

Rolling over, she managed to unclip her gear and prop herself against a boulder. Grabbing her dislocated shoulder, Jenna grimaced as she forcefully shoved it back into place. Going for her rifle, she suddenly paled. Where the fuck is her rifle?

Glancing out around the edge, she saw red as some redhead motherfucking sonuvabitch grabbed her piece, and had the nerve to stroke it. Fuck stealth, he was touching  _her rifle_.

Grabbing her MK23 Mod 0, she cocked the hammer and racked the slide, cursing the range. Easily 50 meters-ish, with a cold bore shot, was not ideal. Fuck it all.

Popping up, she planted two .45 rounds into his upper body,  _fucking idiot wasn't even wearing a plate carrier_ , and waited. Luckily, she had slipped on the suppressor while she was at it.

Finally feeling good about her chances, she slid her NVGs down from her OPSCORE helmet, and turned on her pistol's IR laser. Handy little shit.

Dashing forward, she grabbed her  _beautiful, sexy, life saving rifle_ , and ran back to her boulder. She quickly fished a magazine out of her D3CR rig, and slammed it home, turning her rifle over to check the chamber. Satisfied, she hoisted her HK416 up, finally realizing her radio had gotten turned off in the fall. She flicked it back on, sliding down a steep slope.

"I'm okay, I'm not dead," she breathed, running towards the supposed DZ. "Where the fuck are you guys?"


	9. Chapter 9

**[Coalition Task Force "Marauder"]**

**[SSG Derek "Frost" Westbrook]**

**[1st SFOD-D, B Squadron, fire team "Metal"]**

**[Metal 0-4]**

Icy wind pelted Frost's face, and the white snow contrasted with his blue hoodie, causing a snarky comment from Grinch about his nickname.  _Like that fucker can talk, he has a nickname after a goddamn Doctor Seuss character_.

Landing somewhat awkwardly with half his body in the snow, Frost quickly detached himself from his parachute and unhooked the oxygen mask from his face. Sliding his signature balaclava over his head, he hooked up his OPSCORE helmet and brought his quadeye NODs down over his goggles.

"Alright, you lousy wankers, keep those IR strobes on and try not to kill anyone with one," grunted Captain Price, who adjusted his boonie hat.  _How is that man not freezing?_

"Sir, we've lost Jenna," Ramirez said, glancing behind him. Allen nodded in confirmation, but just remarked, "Told ya a woman don't belong in the 75th, James."

Ramirez stormed over and grasped Allen by the neck, and buried him face first into the snow. He started thrashing, struggling to be able to breathe.

"The only thing keeping me from killing you right now is that you're not a bad shot and the fact you're Shepard's bitch. Otherwise, I'd leave you here to freeze," Ramirez growled, as Price and Soap held back Foley and Dunn, who were moving to pry Ramirez off the other Ranger.

Frost watched with a somewhat bored look. He checked over his M416, and racked the bolt. The sound, coupled with his sigh, brought all eyes on him. He gestured towards the town with his rifle.  _Can we go yet?_

Sandman nodded, barking, "Private, get off him, we got a mission to do," and Ramirez complied. "Yes, Sergeant," he murmured. Allen kneeled, gasping for breath and brushing snow from his face. He glared at Ramirez, but kept quiet.

Frost impatiently turned around, blowing out air. When he turned around however, he turned right into a creeping enemy insurgent. He raised an eyebrow and blew his brains out.

The sound of a discharging suppressed rifle sent all eyes his way, again. He dropped to a knee and held up the insurgent's head, letting it fall and gesturing to the trees.  _Probably more out there._

On cue, a half dozen more enemies rushed through the thick undergrowth, screaming that awful battle cry. "LILILILILILIL-"  _ **CRACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK!**_

Truck lowered his MK48, and spat out his tobacco, which he somehow kept in his mouth through the jump.

"Frost's right, can we go now?" he asked, exasperated.

Price nodded, slinging his MK14, while holding his G36K at a low-ready position.

"Move it, AG1," he barked, moving into the trees.

Frost rolled his eyes.  _Finally._  Sandman came up beside him, and shoved a 40mm HE round into his M416's M203. Frost nodded to it, and looked at his fire team leader. Sandman just grinned.

"Yeah, gonna make things go boom," he said. Frost snorted, and patted the SMAW on his back.

Sandman just rolled his eyes and finally got to proper distance.

Roach was pulling the rear when he heard snow crunching behind him. He keyed his mic, muttering, "Contact rear," and bringing his ACR to bear.

Expecting another insurgent, he was surprised when Corporal Denning shot through the treeline, and promptly ran into him.

He stumbled but held firm, steadying the Ranger.

"Never mind, found Denning," he drawled, eyeing the heavily breathing soldier. She gave a thumbs up, hefting her rifle once again.

He nodded, and gestured ahead of him. She moved to get behind Tanya, who winked, and then turned to him.

"You have a shit British accent, y'know," she said, smirking. He smiled behind his own balaclava. Releasing the fake accent, he spoke naturally. "Aye, but being an southern Irishman in the 22 SAS is about as tough as being a woman in the Rangers, to some extent," he replied. At her raised eyebrow, he clarified, "We've killed quite a few of them, and them, us."

She nodded, and jogged slightly to catch up, rucksack bouncing behind her. That wasn't the only thing bouncing, he noticed. He looked up to see LT Zaytseva glaring daggers into him. He gulped- pissing off a woman who shot off a man's genitals at 700 yards with an AK is not suggested. Seeing his bobbing Adam's apple, she turned back around.

Frost was on point, but heard some of the commotion. Rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time, he wished dearly that they could split into their own units. The Rangers were having the next Spanish-American War, 141 was just a fuckgaggle of SAS shits, and the  _goddamn sexual tension between Denning and Zaytseva_  was gonna suffocate him.

Frost continued on the path they had found- an old goat trail, to be exact- and was following it along a steep ravine. His boots crunched in the snow as he skirted along the edge, eyeing the easily 400 foot drop warily.

Hearing voices speaking in Pashto, he held a fist and pressed his body against the sleek icy rock wall behind him. The rest of the team did so, as well. Above them, insurgents flashed a few flashlights down below, and went as far as turning on a huge spotlight, shining it throughout the valley.

Price glanced at the lights warily. They knew they were coming, so might as well come in hard and fast.

Keying his mic several times, he prayed to God that the American AC-130 crew knew Morse Code. If they didn't, this mission might be over before it began.

Turning to his teammates, he held up his ice picks, and stabbed them into the ice behind them, and tied a cord around them and his wrists to hold him steady. The others followed his lead. As the last man- one of the Spetsnaz boys- tried to stab the ice, he hit rock.

The impact reverberated throughout the valley, it seemed. For seconds, everything was silent until rounds from below hit near the operators. Price, abandoning stealth, keyed his mic again.

"VALKYRIE 2-2, WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU?!" Price shouted, ducking low and returning what limited fire he could.

On cue, the AC-130's 20mm gun lit up the night, spewing rounds down onto the insurgents shooting up at the team.

"On station, AG1. Better get moving while you can, over," replied the TV control operator.

"Alright, let's move!" Price shouted, edging along the slippery rock.

**About 15000 feet up**

"Johnson, keep a bead on AG1, will you?" asked Major Benjamin Carlyle, Valkyrie 2-2's pilot. Technical Sergeant Daisy Johnson (ha) nodded from her position in the doorway, and slid back into her seat at her gunnery station.

"Weapons hot, Johnson, fire when ready," announced Warrant Officer Kenneth Burns from the loading bay.

"Johnson copies all. Hold on, AG1, I'm about to rain hell on the bad guys right above you," she grinned. Switching over to the 105mm, she targeted the collection of tents and various weapon and ammunition boxes on the cliff above AG1.

"Ka-boom," she said, and fired.

**Back with the grunts**

Frost damn near lost his grip on his ice picks as the artillery slammed into the mountain above him. One of the Spetsnaz guys actually did, and as he toppled over, Zaytseva quickly put a round in his head. Mercy kill. Or maybe to keep him from screaming. Either way, Denning looked sick, and Frost was  _not_ looking forward to dealing with vomit on a slippery, icy cliff face.

Harshly stabbing his ice pick into the next piece of ice, Frost finally reached the other side. Slipping the cord off, and shoving the ice picks back into their own little holsters on his assault pack, he quickly scanned the immediate area for hostiles. Nothing.

Checking his watch, he internally cursed. The glowing digital display glared back at him: 0320. They were already behind schedule.

"Alright, Frost, hard and fast, move," Sandman barked, and Frost grabbed his rifle and tore through the brush. The rest of the assault group ran alongside him, and suddenly Valkyrie 2-2 cut into their comms.

"AG1, I've got eyes on multiple ground vehicles moving into the village. Permission to engage?" Price immediately shouted back, "Negative! We need to confirm this kill, over!"

A sigh and quick, "Solid copy," ended that discussion. Price yelled to the team, "YOU HEARD THE LASS, WE GOTTA BEAT THOSE TRUCKS TO TH-" He was abruptly cut off as a 110mm round went off in front of him.

"PRICE!" Soap shouted, and turned only to have what seemed to be an airburst detonate mere feet from his face. He screamed, and went down, and Frost could see the skin torn away in slow motion.

Jenna quickly grabbed Price in a fireman's carry and Roach with Soap, and for a brief moment Frost thought,  _Damn, strong gal to carry a 220lbs man in combat gear_ , before Sandman hollered, "KEEP MOVING, STAY AWAY FROM THE TREES!"

The assault group kept pushing forward, even as that fucking recoilless rifle kicked up dirt and spew shrapnel all across them. As the hamlet suddenly burst into view, the rifle stopped.

They continued running until Zaytseva yelled, "DROP!"

The entirety of the group ate dirt as 7.62 and 5.45 rounds ripped through the air, and Sandman quickly fired off an HE round from his 203, silencing a machine gun nest set up in a small hut.

"POP SMOKE!" Someone yelled, and smoke grenades flew into the field, quickly covering the area in a choking pseudo fog.

Frost capitalized on this, and started crawling forward, away from the kill zone. He noticed the others following his lead, as Truck and a few others started returning fire with heavier weapons, namely, machine guns. Some Spetsnaz operator had even managed to grab an M60 from someone, and it belched out several dozen 7.62 rounds into the smokescreen.

Quickly coming to the edge of the distraction, the rest quickly stood up and raised rifles, laser designators shining in the predawn darkness. Coming around the first set of huts, Frost quickly killed a reloading rifleman, and turned and put two rounds center mass in another man, turning, then falling down as the fucker put a wild round in his arm as he fell.

Grinch covered him and put another two rounds from his M14 in him, one in his head. Frost hissed quietly, but stayed silent as he observed the now-dead terrorist. Combat gear from 5.11, a brand new AK-105, and night vision goggles to boot…  _Shit_.

"Watch out, these guys aren't your average muj," Grinch warned, taking off again. Frost followed, his non-dominant arm still leaking blood. He saw another highly equipped combatant, and made sure to put rounds higher up, where the ballistic vest covered less body area. He fell, gurgling as the bullets punched through his throat and maybe lung(s).

Jenna was having a tough time running and gunning while carrying Price. She and Roach stayed towards the center, covered by Zaytseva and Scarecrow in the front, Sandman to their left, Dunn to the right, and Foley and Ramirez pulling the rear. Grinch, Frost, and the distraction unit had fallen behind, with the first two advancing to catch up quickly. She suddenly wondered why she and Roach were 1) here, and 2) dragged Price and Soap with them.  _Huh_.

"HEADS UP, CONVOY'S HERE!" Scarecrow called, turning to shoot another terrorist. The Afghan man fell, chest turning dark with blood. The Afghans were shining flashlights everywhere, unable to see, while the other fighters with NVGs waited and took potshots.

"RPG, GET DOWN!" Foley yelled, and everyone dropped, and Jenna was once again crushed against the ground by Price's weight. (and growing beer belly) The rocket sailed over their heads, exploding near a cleared sandstone house, blowing chunks of debris everywhere.

Frost and Grinch shot by, unfazed by it, and set up Frost's SMAW a few buildings away from the convoy. They tore off their night vision from one eye, and Grinch brought his ACOG to bear. Quickly scanning through a crowd of fleeing men, his eye widened.

"CONFIRMATION KINGFISH!" He hollered, "THIRD TRUCK!" Frost wasted no time, as the other members of the assault group began laying down fire upon hearing the target was confirmed, and eased the launcher to bear.

Breathe in… out… in… out… in… and  _fire_. The rocket struck the truck dead center of the engine block, and flipped it upside down as it attempted to execute a U-turn. Frost inwardly fist-pumped, then stared in shock as the man they were sent to kill landed in front of them, half his face ripped off, to reveal… another… face…

Frost shot up, peppering the entire convoy with bullets, pausing only to reload. Another truck stopped as all the occupants were killed. However, five still pulled away, and two fifties spat green tracers back at them.

Sandman glanced at the body, and yelled, "DAMMIT!" Price roused in Jenna's arms, slapping them away as he grabbed his rifle and head. Looking around, he took in the explosions and chaos, and mumbled, "Dewegedam?" (Did we get him?) Jenna's face said it all.

He swore, and the bullets had by then stopped. "Search the houses!" He barked, eyes ablaze, "And 2-2, track those fucking trucks!" The AC-130 responded, "No can do, AG1. Sun's coming up, meaning we gotta go down." Price yelled back, "Just a few more minutes! You've got…" he quickly checked his watch, "forty-seven minutes till sunrise! You're fine."

Silence. The teams quickly turned every house upside down, except one. Price stormed in there alone, rummaging through everything, until he came across a trapdoor. He opened it and entered, sliding down an attached ladder.

Turning on his rifle's flashlight, he swept the room before turning to the lone desk and detached his flashlight to examine it closely. His eyes widened.

 _Jackpot_.

Financial records, business partners, weapon shipments, and-

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

An attack plan for Zakhaev International Airport in Moscow was laid out, in full detail, along with an attached image of a marked map where Kilo 6-4 had been, labelled in Cyrillic "SIMOP". He keyed his mic to report his find, then the roof caved in.

**Outside**

The recoilless rifle suddenly slammed into the last house twice. Everyone rushed outside, and Ghost and Scarecrow screamed, "PRICE!" They ran to the house, ignoring the mortar rounds and bullets now raining around them, and frantically began digging.

Foley and Sandman grabbed the two, and held them back as they desperately struggled to find their commander. "LET GO OF ME, YOU FUCKING USELESS WANKING PIECE OF SHIT!" Ghost yelled at Foley, attempted to elbow the sergeant. Blocking it with his helmet, he yelled back, "STAND THE FUCK DOWN, SOLDIER!"

Zaytseva screamed, "WE'VE GOTTA GO, NOW!" Turning to Truck, she barked, "GET CAS ASAP!" The operator obeyed without question, barking out orders to the AC-130 and approaching fast movers.

"QRF, WE NEED EXTRACTION NOW!" Sandman hollered, peeking out of the house he was in to return fire blindly.

The Spectre rained down hellish covering fire, destroying huge swaths of forest and mountain, and the enemy fire lessened. "This is Wallcroft! We're 10 mikes out, over!" Truck replied, "Be here in five, fuckboy, and I'll buy you drinks for an entire year!"

A few chuckles came out of that, before Johnson broke the news. "AG1, Valkyrie 2-2. I'm sorry guys, but I'm entirely out of ammo. We're gonna do some pretty fucking stupid shit before we leave, though," she chirped. Coulson, the co-pilot, cried out, "BOMBS AWAY!"

The huge plane fell out of the sky, and roared over the Whale, and POPPED FLARES. The orange/red superheated objects flew from the aircraft not even 200 feet from the ground, and vicious return fire could be seen riddling it. An engine gave out, and the plane made a steep climb to get out of small arms range.

"2-2 signing off," Johnson sighed breathlessly. "Yo, Fitz, I got a bullet lodged in my display!"

A deafening silence retook the valley. Assault Group 2 had already pulled out after Kilo 6-4 was obliterated, ATVs and and all, on allegedly Shepherd's orders. Wallcroft and the QRF were their only way out now, and their air support was- temporarily- gone. It seemed so was the enemy, for now.

Jenna hastily scrubbed and washed out the various wounds on Soap's face, and wrapped it up in gauze after applying the biggest fucking field bandages Frost had ever seen. She slumped against the wall, helmet off, and not even flinching as a stray round punched through mere inches from her head.

Zaytseva sank down next to her, knocking knees. The young Ranger lazily looked over, and grabbed the offered canteen. She almost choked after tasting vodka instead of water, and stared at Tanya incredulously. She laughed as Jenna's throat burned from too much alcohol too quickly.

"Ack! The hell, Tanya?!" Jenna sputtered, finally able to form coherent sentences. The Russian woman laughed softly, grabbing the canteen of alcoholic evil and taking a long swig herself.

"Sorry," she chuckled, "forgot you didn't drink." At Jenna's extremely pissed expression, she held out a half frozen half melted Hershey's bar she grabbed from under her jacket. "Truce?" she offered, smiling still. Jenna regarded the chocolate strangely, and reached to take it.

Suddenly, a salvo of gunfire began again, and Jenna's hand was shot to all hell. She screamed, the nerves and bones and all that gory goodness half in her hand, half on the floor. Tanya reached over to pull her in front of her, but another round caught Jemma in the face.

She clutched her eyes as she let out a bloodcurdling scream. Finally behind the better cover of a skinny couch, Tanya pulled her hands away and inspected the damage. Frost and Toad stood at the windows returning fire, covering the two women within.

Tanya resisted the urge to cry, biting her tongue in an effort to stifle the sob. Jenna had blood trailing down her face, and was sobbing, not crying. To Tanya, one required tears to be crying, and Jenna couldn't make tears anymore. Tanya gazed into the gory mess that were once Jenna's eyes.

Jenna sniffled, and reached blindly, finally finding Tanya's cheeks, where she rested her hands, Tanya's coming up to cradle her face.

"Tanya," Jenna whimpered, "why can't I see?"


	10. Chapter 10

**[Coalition Task Force "Marauder"]**

**[CW3 Cliff Rorikson]**

**[160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne)]**

**[UH-60M, "Apollo" Squadron, "Apollo 2-2" ]**

"2-2, 2-1, we've got enemy anti-air coming up. Watch yourself in these cliffs."

Rorikson keyed his mic, giving a response, before gently guiding his helicopter above the flatlands leading to the mountains.

"Sounds like we're gonna be using these," muttered one of his crew chiefs, MSG Tim Cabrera. He gripped his M240 a bit tighter, checking the belt and chamber once again. His partner, SSG Diane Prestigiacomo, snorted, and shot back, "You complained about  _not_ using them, now you're whining about actually using them."

CW2 Barlow Max, the co-pilot, chuckled, as did TSG Gabriel Lukas and AFC Warren Rogers, their AFSOC PJs.

"Coming around to the main road, watch those cliffsides and houses," Rorikson warned, glancing at the shining glass. He flipped down his helmet's sun visor, and watched as Apollo 2-1, their MH-60L gunship escort, glided around the bend ahead of them.

"Hey, I think I've got movement," a gunner on 2-1 reported, bringing his 240 to bear.

"Here we go, people," Rorikson called out, already bracing to jerk his stick for E&E. Glancing at where the gunner was aiming his machine gun, Max bemusedly exclaimed, "It's just a bunch of goats!"

"No shepherd, though. Where is he?" Diane quickly noted, scanning the mountain. All of sudden, klaxons blared inside the cockpit, and Rorikson shouted, "SHIT!" before swerving towards the valley floor and popping flares.

"2-1, 2-2, we've got a SAM on us! See where it came from?!" Max asked, eyes scanning the surface for any indication of the launch point.

"2-2, 2-1, I've got nothing on my- Fuck, technical! Light that shit up!" Davids, the pilot of 2-1 commanded, and his starboard machine gun spat lead at the pickup truck, mounted with what appeared to be a PKM. Rounds splashed across the body and road around it, and as several popped a tire, it swerved off the road and began falling off the mountain.

"Good kill, good kill," 2-1 cried, before several tracers flew by it and 2-2.

"Small arms, starboard side," Diane reported, before responding with her own gun. The 240 was drowned out by the engines, but Rorikson still felt the vibrations caused by the heavy weapon.

"2-2, 2-1, we're gonna blow these fuckers away," Davids announced, moving his helicopter to face the mountain while moving to the side.

"Kate, fuck'em up," he continued, talking to his co-pilot. "Guns, guns, guns," she replied, and the rail-mounted M134s spooled up before what seemed like a stream of red tracers slammed into the mountain, destroying two huts that had green AK tracers flying from them.

"Looks like an AA emplacement coming up. Whoa!" Kate yelped, as Davids dipped as a Dushka screamed at them. "Hello," she said as Davids raised the helicopter back to level, "and good-fucking-bye!" She keyed the Hydra rockets, and 4 rockets slammed into the fortified gun emplacement, lighting it up in a spectacular explosion.

The two helicopters flew further into the bowels of the insurgent stronghold, noting the destroyed mountain. "Jesus…" "An entire KSK team was inside when that went off." "That's a real shitty way to die." "Hooah to that."

"Alright, there's Marzak. That's the LZ," Rorikson reported, already decelerating. "No convoy," Max noted, glancing at his superior. "No convoy means no security, which means -" Tim began, before the entire village opened fire, it seemed.

"FUCKFUCKFUCK!" "2-2, 2-1, GOING DOWN!" "APOLLO 2-1 IS GOING DOWN!" "WE'RE GOING DOWN HARD!" "BRACE, BRACE, BRACE!"

Two RPGs slammed into the tail rotor of Apollo 2-1, and small arms riddled the hull. The two machine guns and the M134s went full auto, and Rorikson pulled up to avoid being hit.

Diane and Tim went beserk, both MGs firing without stop.

"AG3, where the fuck are you?!" Max cried, keying another round of flares- their last.

"We're ten mikes out, hold on, 2-2," a British soldier responded.

"We don't have 2!" Rorikson shot back, wincing as a round cut through the helo and his left rudder locked up.

An MG nest right under the nose fired straight into the cockpit, and Max caught two rounds in his thigh. He screamed as the bullets lodged themselves deep in the flesh.

"Lukas, Rogers, spread your fucking legs! We're going in hot!" Rorikson shouted as the port engine burst into flames.

"All Marauder elements, this is Apollo 2-2. We are going down, repeat, going down. CREW, BRA-!"

**[Coalition Task Force "Marauder"]**

**[SGT Kamilla Hantz]**

**[German KSK, 3rd Commando Company]**

**[Callsign: "Kilo 3-1"]**

Kamilla gasped, gulping in fresh air as the boulder on top of her little air pocket rolled off the pile. She had no idea how she survived, but she did. When the cave came down, she thought she was done for. Rocks, flame, men, and equipment went everywhere. She was alone in a tiny air pocket, and had spent the better part of 4 hours digging herself out.

As she crawled out of the little hole, she looked towards the village AG1 was going to attack, and saw leveled buildings and Humvees spewing bullets. She reached for her radio, before remembering- it was torn off her vest in the explosion.

Kamilla let out a shaky breath, the cold air turning it into a puff of steam. A groan near her had the commando snapping her sidearm up and head turning. A raised arm clad in a KSK winter assault jacket was swaying, blood staining the white camouflage.

She found herself tearing over rocks and skipping over holes, and fell to her knees besides the wounded commando.

"Moffers," she breathed, heaving a small boulder off his legs. He groaned, and cried out when his nerves returned feeling to his leg. Kamilla grit her teeth, unable to splint it, and with no radio contact.

"Hell of a mess we got into, huh,  _kumpel_?" she asked. Moffers stared at her, his eyes slowly losing focus. Kamilla took a look at the blood surrounding the two of them, quite a bit coming from a large gash in her arm. He wordlessly raised his arm again, and she grasped it, clenching tightly. He responded in kind.

She kept doing it until his grip slackened and his face relaxed, chest going still. Mechanically grabbing his dog tags and hastily wrapping her arm in dirty and torn gauze, Kamilla pushed herself up and turned to see a large explosion from a village a few miles deeper in the valley. Gripping her USP sidearm tightly, she grabbed Moffers' MP7 and ammo, and began a shaky descent to the valley floor.

Willing herself to stay up, she eventually collapsed on a flat rock. She looked back over the edge and saw the ground a few meters below. Shoving back up, she completed the descent, and looked to the sky. The sun was nearly directly above her. Looking to the road, she began tracing the Humvee tracks. She had a long way to run.


End file.
